by Nicole Snow
I'm going to be sick. I'm about to heave up what little is left in my stomach from a whole day not eating, but not before I stand up, gripping the back of my chair, and look her in the eye. “Why, mom...why the fuck did you lie?”
A single, painful tear rolls down her cheek. “He told me there wasn't any way to bring the boy back, and frankly, I agreed. I understood the danger, imagined the ways it would ruin our family, worse than it already has, messing with the Draytons. I swore I'd protect you from Ryan Caspian, honey, and that's all I've tried to do, even today. It hurt to turn him in. I didn't know about the cheating. I wanted to believe Reg was different, good for you, that you'd moved on with your life and wanted to marry him. He told me how Ryan burst in, beat him up, said he should never, ever come near you again. Honey, he cried...”
Fire scorches my veins, imagining how the manipulative piece of shit I almost married twisted the knife deep in all our backs.
“And you listened to his tears? The same ones from a man whose family fortune should be going straight to his Great Uncle's victims?”
“I-I'm sorry. I thought he was better. I thought maybe your father was wrong, that Ryan was bad for you, too damaged by everything that happened. Reg was going to be the one to make you happy.” She looks down, crushed. I can practically see the gaping hole ripped in her by the truth – all of it. “I just wanted to protect you. Never wanted to see you ruining this family, or ruining yourself a second time, chasing after a man who's always going to be a walking target. They'll put him away for good when they find out. It breaks my heart, falling for Reg's story, knowing that poor young man is going to jail.”
I hear the pain in her voice, but I don't have any sympathy. “He's a billionaire, mom. Richer than the Draytons, probably. He can fight fire with fire. We came home to clear his name, for Christ's sake, and now you've both ruined it. All because you had to listen to that lying prick.”
My hands go up in the air and blood hits my temples. I can't do this anymore. I'm heading for the closest door, ignoring mom's breakdown, her wails echoing through the whole house.
“Kara!” Matt yells after me. I don't stop, refusing to look at him when I'm out on the driveway, calling a co-worker for a ride.
I'm heading back to my condo, and then I'm going straight to the sheriff's office. He'll probably lock me up on orders from Reg's family, or have me committed to a psyche ward, but I don't care.
It's not going down this way. I won't let it end like this.
Matt grabs me by the shoulder. I spin so fast I drop my phone. My palm doesn't stop, heading straight for his face. I hit him at least three times as hard as I can before my brain starts working again, and I stumble back, hating every blinding second of this.
My brother's hand reaches up, touching the burn on his cheek. No, he doesn't deserve this, he's just trying to help.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” I whimper, folding my arms around myself, turning my back.
“Sis...I deserved it. Didn't listen. I got taken for a ride by that piece of shit when I really shouldn't have, just like mom.” He shuffles up behind me, standing so he blocks the wind nipping at my back. “I owe you an apology. Everything you said sounded crazy. I never thought in a million years dad would lie to me, lie to all of us, and mom would back him up.”
“Yeah, well...now you get how I feel. But you'll never understand it, not if you try till Holden's half-grown.” I look down, kicking a stray rock across the pavement. It helps me fight the urge to burst into tears. “You put him away, Matt. You didn't mean to, but you did. You, mom, and Reg's fucking lies.”
“I don't need to understand,” he says, laying a hand on my shoulder. “Before everything went to shit, I cared about Ryan. He was my best friend. Still might be, knowing what really went down, or near enough. We're going to get him out of there.”
I refuse to look at him until he nudges my arm, turning me around. After everything that's happened, it seems impossible that I'd ever get a friend in this fight.
“This isn't your fight. Mom and dad weren't exaggerating about the danger we're putting ourselves in, even if they were wrong with how they handled it. I can't let them come down on you and Holden. Let me do this, alone.”
“Sis, you're looking at me and seeing your big brother. Guess it's too easy to forget I've been overseas for four years, dealing with brutes who make the Draytons look like a damned joke. You need me, however much you don't want to hear it.” Both his hands are on my shoulders now, squeezing, forcing me to keep looking at him when I want nothing else except to turn away and run. “The Sheriff's compromised. His first instinct's going to be protect the Draytons. He'll push you out of his office and send you down to some flunky, who'll throw your statement in a drawer where it'll just gather dust. They can't do that with a decorated Marine.”
I hate it, but I know he's right.
When I pull myself away, we head for his truck. I send him the same file from my phone, the one with the only evidence we have to set Ryan free. Then we're rolling onto the highway, too anxious to turn the radio on, never saying anything our eyes can't when we share a glance at every light.
We have to get him out of there. There's no telling what Reg will try to do with his family's connections. His family will want a spectacle in the local press, portraying them as victims, but Reg won't wait forever, knowing who he is and what he meant to me.
He doesn't take risks. If he doesn't know the truth about what happened with Nelson, he'll make sure it's only his family's version that ever goes on record.
I don't know what they're capable of. I remember Patricia's anger, the way she'd get whenever someone disappointed her.
These people don't play around. There are no morals. They'll do their damnedest to arrange an accident, or something worse, every hour Ryan spends locked up.
I'm thankful he's come to his senses, and he's helping me. But I can't ignore the ice creeping up my spine, the chill that keeps telling me it's too late.
I take a seat in the waiting room at the town's tiny police station, as soon as the sheriff's secretary gives my brother an audience. It doesn't take long to hear the two men bellowing at each other behind the closed door.
The secretary looks up when I stand, walk over, and press my ear against Sheriff Dixon's door. But she doesn't stop me, just walks over herself after several seconds pass, listening with me.
“You've lost your mind, Lilydale, with all due respect. I'm not sticking the FBI in the ass with a flimsy lead like this.” The sheriff's gravelly voice seeps through the wood, resonating in my ears.
“Flimsy? That what you call a list of pervs screwing around with girls they ought to have no business touching? What about the one who's been busted, doing time in a Federal pen?”
“I don't know anything about that,” the sheriff says, shooting down my brother's accusations. He's treating him like the crazy man. Like he's just told him he shook Elvis' hand on the moon. “Look, you know what the Drayton family means to this town. These are serious accusations. I know what Mr. Caspian means to us, too, and what he used to mean to you and yours. You'll have to do better than showing me a list of names if you want me to dig into old Nelson, and turn the worst suspect this town's ever had loose.”
“Then I'll have to do the impossible,” Matt growls. There's a dull thud. I imagine his hands hitting the sheriff's desk, leaning over him. “You've sold out. Failed to protect everybody in this town like you're supposed to, all because you're afraid to go after those fucking assholes.”
“Get out of my face,” Dixon snarls. “We're done here.”
“You're not a bad man – at least, I want to believe you're not. Christ, man, get past the fear. Do the right thing. I've brought you proof. You could have this list of names in the lead investigator's hand tonight, blow open a slavery ring, and go down as the town's greatest hero in a generation when they're busted.”
“Please. Fame isn't on my agenda. You're good at what you do, Matt, and I appr
eciate your service to our country.” The sheriff pauses, trying to regain his calm. “But you're a fool if you think busting the Draytons won't leave this town reeling. They pull their business, we've got nothing.”
“Did you forget you're about to cook a self-made man who's built a billion dollar business?”
“That's hardly relevant to the scope of the suspect's crime,” Dixon snaps. “I'm sorry, I can't help you. If you think so little of this office that you believe we're here to serve one family, instead of Split Harbor, you're welcome to go to the FBI yourself.”
“Bullshit. We both know the Draytons have got their hands in the Feds, too. Our only shot at breaking their backs starts here.” My brother pauses, holding in his anger. I watch his silhouette turn in the frosted glass, heading for the door. The secretary scampers away to her desk behind me. “It's your call, Sheriff, and you know it. If you make the right one, I'll be waiting outside with my sister for awhile.”
Dixon never replies. Matt comes storming out a second later, shooting me a surprised look when he sees me standing next to the door.
“I know, it didn't go well,” I tell him. “What are we going to do now?”
“Wait. We're going to hang out here until midnight, or until we see the sheriff leave. Whatever happens first. He's thinking things over. Deciding what kind of man he is tonight, one way or another.”
Great, more waiting.
Meanwhile, I think about Ryan, holed up somewhere in the back of this building where they have the tiny cells. He's alone, wondering if his worst nightmare is finally coming true.
I can't lose him again. Touching my ring finger, I let the minutes flow by anxiously, remembering my promise.
When I said I'd marry him again, I meant it, down to my soul. This doesn't change that.
If I have to visit him behind bars, wearing his ring, and be a prison wife, I will. I'll wait my entire life to see him free. I'll keep fighting the bastards as long and hard as I have to.
Nothing's destroying our love a second time.
He's cleared his name with me, retaken my heart, and claimed me again. I'm afraid, but I'm determined.
As long as I hang onto that, I'll always have my husband.
12
Just Breathe (Ryan)
It's amazing how time hemorrhages away in this little cell. I haven't been so numb or detached from the world since the night Nelson died, and Bart sent me away, protecting me the only way he could.
I'm the only prisoner here tonight. Split Harbor rarely ever has more than the odd drunken fist fight or a man wanted on petty crimes passing through town. There are only eight, maybe ten cells. I'm by myself back here, stuffed into a box that hasn't been updated since the 1930s.
Seeing how this is the town's first murder case in more than fifty years, I worry I'm about to become it's most famous inmate. Until they put me through a kangaroo court and shuffle me off to the nearest Federal penitentiary, anyway.
This can't be happening again.
Oh, but it is.
I'm losing her. Ruining her life for a second time because I'm leaving against my will. I'm being torn away, again, only this time I can't come back. Even my big brain isn't likely to hatch a jailbreak scheme.
I stand up, stretch, and walk to the edge of the cell. My hands grip the bars. Staring through the gaps, I let my head fall, wondering how big a mistake it was to come back here at all.
No. Don't you dare, I tell myself.
Whatever happens, it wasn't wrong. I couldn't have lived another day with my success, my billions, without letting her know the truth. It's her kiss on my mind for God only knows how long, hating the fact that I'll never have those lips again as long as I'm stuffed away behind bars. It doesn't matter because I cherish the memory.
I'm remembering last night, our very last in Seattle, when I hear footsteps. The sheriff coming toward me isn't a surprise, but I have to blink to check my vision when I see the other man at his side.
“Back up a bit,” Sheriff Dixon says.
My old best friend stands next to him with his arms folded across his huge chest. Soon as I move, we watch the old Sheriff produce a set of keys, jam one in my lock, and undo the door with a deafening crack.
“What's this? What's going on?” I ask, keeping my distance.
“New evidence. There's no reason to hold you while it's pending investigation,” the old sheriff says reluctantly. He turns to Matt. “I want both of you to find him. Only way we stop the Draytons from shooting down this case before it gets off the ground is if they're sent a message, loud and clear. They can't interfere, and it's our job to make sure they understand.”
I don't get what's going on. Before I can even ask, the old officer heads down the hall, leaving us alone with my door half open.
Matt waits for me to step outside. “I was wrong about you, Ryan. Wrong about my sis, too, thinking you'd driven her crazy all these years, thinking you were innocent. She showed me the dirt you had on Reg and Nelson. Mom backed up your story. She knew, all these years, and didn't say a fucking thing.”
He sounds like he can't believe it. I know can't, and it's like the floor crumbling beneath me, one more twist in the longest, meanest winding road of my life.
Words won't do for what I've got to say. I throw my arms around him, giving the boy I grew up with a brotherly hug. “Forget it. We don't need to dwell on anybody's past mistakes. What did the sheriff mean when he said we need to send a message?”
Matt looks at me and smiles. “It's open season on the next asshole in line to screw this town over. Let's go have a little heart-to-heart talk with Kara's ex. Way more courtesy than he deserves after the sonofabitch threatened her.”
My hands are already fists before we're outside, heading for his truck. Only thing I can think about is how I wish I'd done more than just tie him up with his mistress at that hotel in Marquette.
Too bad. Tonight, it's better late, than never.
He's working late at the office tonight. Working, for real, the lone figure we see through the dim lit window on the third floor of Drayton Financial.
Matt gives me a look as he parks the car. “You ready?”
“Lead the way, Corporal. We'll corner him and figure out the rest from there. Just save some for me,” I say, brandishing the brass knuckles he's loaned me. “I have plenty to give.”
Matt nods, jumps out, and I'm following close behind him. It's a good thing I've stuck to my gym routine religiously. I wouldn't have a chance at keeping up with the quick, built marine any other way.
We're relieved there's nobody at the front desk. It's too late. We won't need to use the story we'd prepped, and we can save all our words for the bastard who deserves them most.
The Drayton office suffers from the same flaw everywhere in this town has – the doors are unlocked. I make a mental note to change corporate policy at Punch so we never have a crazy issue like two men bursting in after hours, eager to knock sense into a CFO.
He never sees us coming until it's too late. Matt steps aside, standing next to the wall, his hand on the pistol at his side in case Reg tries anything crazy. He gives me the honor of kicking the door open. My foot flies into it like a missile.
Who knew Venetian leather was so good at being a battering ram?
“What the hell?!” Reg jumps up, looking around in a panic, his lean, wiry body twitching when he sees me coming. His arms go up, and he screams when he sees I'm not alone. “Oh, God. I put you away!”
“You put yourself on suicide watch, shithead,” I snarl.
In a second, he's cornered. Grabbing him by the collar, I whip him around, slamming him into the wall with a satisfying boom.
He's whimpering. He thinks we're going to kill him. For now, I'm more than happy to let him believe it, too.
Of course, I'm not a killer, whatever happened with his sick great uncle years ago. Despite the damage Reg has done, I want to believe he doesn't share the same wretched tastes as his older relative, even if he's in
herited Nelson's arrogance.
“Walk with me,” I say, pushing him toward Matt. My buddy takes his other arm, and we lead him out like a puppet, down the elevator to the parking lot.
“You scream, you tell anyone what's going down here tonight, you're done. I'll see the inside of a cell before I let you get away with what you did to my sister and my best friend,” Matt tells him, motioning to the gun in its holster.
The asshole stays quiet the whole way out to the truck. Before we lead him to it, we bring him to his car, where he stops and looks at us with questions in his eyes. “Why here?”
“Open your trunk,” I say, stuffing his hand into his pocket for him, searching for his keys.
He doesn't understand, but he will soon. Reluctantly, he reaches for the fob and taps the button to unlock it. I pop it open and start rummaging through. There isn't much inside, so it doesn't take long to find the bag with the shoebox.
My gut feeling was right. I tear off the lid and see a fresh new pair of candy blue high heels inside.
“For Amy?”
“Yes,” he hisses, clenching his jaw. “I don't see why that's relevant.”
“Shut up,” Matt barks, turning him around, pushing him toward the truck. We hang onto him so he can't bolt, and I clutch the shoebox underneath my arm.
His icy silence persists as he's wedged between us in the truck, all the way out to the forest, undeveloped land just a few miles from the Armitage lighthouse. He doesn't start weeping until we're parked on the gravel road, noticing how isolated it is out here. Matt gets out, waiting for me to do the same, and drag him off his seat. I remember to carry the shoes under my arm again.
“I'm sorry, I'm sorry,” he whines.
“Sorry you got caught?” I look this loathsome piece of shit up and down. It's hard to believe anything he says, even when he's shaking.
This time, his silence is deafening. Matt helps me drag him out, and we take him into the forest. We all walk half a mile before we find the perfect clearing.